


48 Minutes

by MykaWells



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 01:32:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1491847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MykaWells/pseuds/MykaWells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helena is up late with writer's block on her most recent project...</p>
            </blockquote>





	48 Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this a long, long time ago on tumblr (I'm myka-wells now, though I was apple-twizzlers at the time) and just now got around to posting it here. It was in response to a prompt asking for a fic that uses the words fountain pen, luminescent, and trembling. Hope you enjoy!

48 minutes.                                                                         

Helena had been staring at the blank page in front of her for 48 minutes. She’d written entire books, novels with complex plots, carefully crafted prose, and innovative, ingenious scientific thought. A few sentences should not be so excruciatingly difficult.

Helena tossed her ballpoint pen on the desk and groaned, rubbing her hands over her face. She moved her hands and glanced down at, then threw the desk drawer open. She took out a box, removed a vintage black fountain pen and placed it on the desk next to the sheet of paper.

Yes, that was much better. She felt far more comfortable, more at ease writing with the same type of pen that she’d used to write all the outlines for those brilliant novels. It wasn’t the same exact pen though. This one had only been in Helena’s possession for roughly a year, a gift from Myka.

It’d shown up on the desk in Helena’s makeshift study at the B&B on the anniversary of the publication of Helena’s first story. There was no note, just a thin black case with a ribbon tied around it, but Helena knew, knew that only a fellow lover of the written word would think to purchase such an exquisite writing implement.

 Helena’d tested the pen out immediately, and it wrote beautifully, the words flowing smoothly over the page, the letters of Helena’s handwriting coming together in ways that she hadn’t seen since being unbronzed.

After opening the gift, Helena spent the next two hours crafting a letter to Myka. It was a love letter, to be sure, but Helena hoped to infuse it with something a bit more meaning than that. Helena wrote of her admiration for Myka’s character, of the multitude of ways that Myka had saved Helena, of the ways that she saved Helena each and every day.

When she was done, Helena slid the letter between two books in the H.G. Wells section of the bookcase in Myka’s room, leaving the letter sticking out just far enough that Myka would notice when she invariably went to get one of her favorite novels to read after dinner.

Thirty minutes after supper, Helena was settled in the study waiting rather impatiently when she heard quick, soft footsteps before the door swung open. Helena looked up as if she’d actually been reading the book in her lap.

“Hello, darling,” Helena said. “What are we reading today?”

Myka crossed the room without speaking and pulled Helena up from the chair into a hard, deep kiss.

“I love you,” Myka whispered against Helena’s lips. It was the first time in the relationship that either of them had dared to say that, and it was perfect. “And that was the most beautiful thing I have ever read.”

That night, they’d made love for hours. Helena could still remember how Myka had trembled under her touch, the way their bodies moved against and with one another in rhythm, lips and tongues, fingers and nails, pushing and pulling, giving and taking in just the right measure. When they’d finally both fallen asleep, tangled up in the sheets of their bed and each other, it was nearly sunrise.

The memory of that evening set Helena’s brain whirling. She picked up the pen and wrote. She wrote nonstop for five minutes before coming to an abrupt halt. Though Helena had a very specific sentiment in mind, the words were failing to come together properly.

She bit her lip and stared down at the page, her eyes skimming over the words she’d already written. She leaned back and spun the simple gold ring around her left ring finger slowly, thoughtfully. Helena stared, intensely focused on the page in front of her. So intensely that she didn’t hear the floorboard creak behind her.

“Hey there,” Myka said, leaning in the doorway and smirking at Helena. Helena turned her head to see Myka, who looked quite adorable in her thick rimmed glasses, flannel pajama pants and oversized t-shirt. “What are you doing up so late?”

“Just writing,” Helena said. She made a move to cover the papers with her hand, but thought better of it in case the ink was still wet.

Myka raised her eyebrows. She started across the room towards the desk to get a peek.

“Myka, no,” Helena said, spinning around in her chair to fully face Myka.

Myka stopped short. She tilted her head to the side, then smiled, a small barely there smirk that grew into a full smile.

“You’re writing something about me, aren’t you?” Myka asked.

“Well, yes, in a manner of speaking—

Myka made a move to get around Helena, but Helena was quicker. She stood from her seat, grabbed Myka by the arm, and turned her around. Then she gave Myka a kiss for an extra bit of distraction.

“Helena,” Myka said after she’d leaned in for another, longer kiss. “This isn’t like you. Usually you love to show off your work.”

“Not before it’s complete, love,” Helena said. “Besides, I’m rather stuck in the middle of a sentence at the moment.”

“Can I help you?”

Helena was skeptical about allowing even that, but she had a great deal of difficulty denying Myka when she looked so hopeful and excited.  Helena sighed.

“As you’ve deduced, this…piece is in fact about you,” Helena began. “I was hoping to describe the light you exude, the brightness of your soul, but I know that bright is absolutely the wrong word. I was trying to find a way to express that sentiment.”

Myka blushed as she smiled at Helena.

“Hmm, well, I mean it’s kind of weird to think of myself like that,” Myka said. “But I’ll give it a try.”

She pursed her lips and squinted, pausing for dramatic effect while doing her best to act the part of a serious editor or proofreader. She would have succeeded but for the adorable little smirk still on the corner of her lips.

“What about luminescent? Or luminescence?” Myka asked.

“I did think of that one,” Helena said as she brushed a curl behind Myka’s ear and leaned into Myka’s embrace. “And the dictionary definition fits perfectly. But I can’t help thinking of the scientific definition.As you may know, luminescence is the creation of light by processes that do not involve heat. It’s a form of cold body radiation.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Myka asked. “Luminescence can create some spectacular light.”

“It can indeed,” Helena said. “But you are both light and warmth, brightness and heat. So, you see, I couldn’t in good conscience use that word to describe you.”

“Well, tell me then, writer lady,” Myka said, a playful lilt to her voice. “What is luminescence’s counter part, the kind of light that comes with heat?”

Helena smiled broadly and kissed Myka. That was it. She’d found the perfect word. It had the texture that ‘bright’ didn’t and the aesthetic appeal that words like ‘effulgent’ lacked.

“Incandescent,” Helena said.

Helena took hold of Myka’s hands. She held them as she ran her thumb over the diamond on the ring finger of Myka’s left hand. Myka curled her fingers into Helena’s palm and gave an affectionate squeeze.

“You, my love,” Helena continued. “Are incandescence personified.”

Myka grinned and pulled Helena’s body against her own.

“You’re pretty incandescent yourself, ” Myka said. “Inside and out.”

After a quick kiss that turned into a much longer one, Myka pulled back, a goofy, playful smile on her lips.

“What?” Helena asked.

“I totally just helped the real H.G. Wells with a writing problem,” Myka said. “And I don’t know about you, but I think that means I deserve at least a quick peek at what you’re writing.”

“I would normally agree,” Helena said. “But not this time.”

“Why not?” Myka asked. That frown was nearly as effective in persuading Helena as Myka’s earlier enthusiasm.  _Nearly_.

Helena looked up and smiled coyly at Myka.

“Because I hardly think it appropriate for my bride to see the vows I have written for her before we reach the altar,” Helena said as she took Myka by the hand and led her towards the stairs.

**Author's Note:**

> I always enjoy getting feedback ;) Thanks for reading!


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